Thursday, November 26, 2009

how intense are those pains,how intense are those blows,which makes people never let go...their ears go deaf, to their own shouts,only a grief stricken silence screams to haunt...how intense it must be, how intense...when they can't see themselves,in the mirrors, though they are absolutely transparent,under their naked skin, and their bones...how inense are those pains,how intense are those blows,which makes them bleed seas of tears,when they wash their wounds,and it all looks like dirty linen,to everyone around...how intense are those pains,how intense they must be,they let nothing heal them...there must be many songs,stories,they never listen to...how intense are those pains,how intense are those blows,everytime they swallow,i see a burning charcoal in their throats,everytime they spit,i see fire sparkles trying to burn,everything,including their tongues...how intense the pain must be,how intense the blows must be,the empty caves carved out by,the acid tears streaming down their eyes,seeping into their memories,and emotions,make prickling mites and tites, stalaclites,like life is made of limestone...how intense the pain must be,how intense the blows are,that life collapses with the mind,an empty cave with prickles and pain,like it's made of limestone.

sometimes you just need to hang on,because you are the blowing wind,who can be the air,which can stand still,and you are also this first breeze,which most don't notice.

yeah,you are also this first breeze,which most don't notice,soft,cool,warm,fresh,sweet and lively,like the feathers,silk,milk,flowersand honey,green sprouting leaves.when the morning sun, is a baby,treading first steps,with tiny feet.

morning breeze...sometimes you just need to hang on,because you are the blowing wind,who can be the air,which can stand still.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

word smith in his smithy shop,heats the thoughts well,he bends and beats,the roads and the curves,walked by men,from a longtime,the world, to make 'em see through his needle eye,and get them a mind,open wide, and very fine.

Friday, November 13, 2009

when you are angry at nights,you write poems with rhyming lines,and with some word play,like you ice,the baked hot cake,flavored with some nice,or not so nice surprise,and you feel fine.

and you feel fine,'cos you conveyed the message right,to the world lost,in itself and time,and that you are 'oh! so right',and i appreciate, your thought,your mind.'cos i am in this,the society,i write.

i am in this, the society and i write,i write,to quit,and share it here with might!yeah.nevermind.

when,the main gates closed,she wants go out,it’s too late,she lifts a dark tile,there is a rook inside,she closes the exit,she runs around,she examines the field,four elephants, cornered alive…she lifts a white tile,there is still a rook inside…she runs around,examines the field,four elephants,cornered alive…she lifts a dark tile,looks into the eye,of the rook inside,it had cried, more it cries…she keeps the tile open,she runs around, examines,four rooks cornered alive,three more tiles, she lifts…and all of them cried…she stays in the zoo,too…bodies caught and souls hanged,green splits ,to stand straight,rooks, knights, bishops, kings lived…but life is only black and white…wars they fight,check-mate!and all the beasts, free outside…game not over, but it’s the end…

About Me

i knew and know, how fast i slide,
how hard i sway,
how far i throw away,
how long the bubbles were to stay...
friend,i still play the same games,
it's all th same-unpredictable,different maze,
but every time i feel a different way,
i do not allow you to just say...
you have to feel and stay...